


On Your Day of Birth

by Lady_of_Greenwood



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 18:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12846876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_Greenwood/pseuds/Lady_of_Greenwood
Summary: After the defeat of Sauron Legolas learns something new about his mortal friends: the importance of birthdays.





	On Your Day of Birth

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever prompt over on Tumblr; anon wondered what the Fellowship did for each other's birthdays
> 
> Also, usually Hobbits give gifts to their guests on their birthdays but I figured that they deserved to receive gifts after everything that happened so I guess you could consider this a bit of an AU

The first year of true peace after their defeat over Sauron, Legolas Greenleaf learned something about mortals he had never realised, despite his long friendship with Aragorn.

Birthdays, he learned, were quite important. Much more so than they were for elves.

They were supposed to be grand, a celebration of another year on this earth and each member of the Fellowship had his own way of marking the occasion.

Gandalf, much like Legolas himself, did not celebrate at all. He was too old – ancient – in their understanding of time to truly know which day his birthday would fall on. In fact, he said one day, he did not know whether time truly applied to a being such as he was and thus could not tell if he was born in a day or if his birth spanned centuries. Instead, the wizard marked the passing of time since his arrival in Middle-earth with a pipe of Longbottom Leaf, or Old Toby if he had a mind, and a quiet day in a garden of his choosing.

Sometimes, Glorfindel would join him, uncharacteristically quiet and thoughtful, as he sat beside his old friend with a book that appeared older than Legolas himself. He had only stumbled upon them once, wrapped in quiet conversation, and hastily beaten his retreat. It had been such a strangely charged moment he felt as if he had been intruding.

When Gimli asked why he looked so confused, Legolas had said nothing but pulled the dwarven beard and run for his life instead.

Now Gimli, that was a whole other story. The dwarf loved celebrating his birthday, probably as much as a Hobbit did. He did however absolutely despise people planning his party for him. So when his first birthday after the war arrived in Gondor, he banned everyone from the Great Hall in Minas Tirith, ordered several highly confused servants to do exactly as he told and planned the entire evening himself.

And what an evening it had been, though Legolas doubted anyone in the Fellowship aside from himself and Gandalf truly remembered it. Ale had flown as freely as the Bruinen and half a dozen wild boars had been put on spits and roasted over roaring fires after soaking in beer for a day.

The combination of both had left Pippin snoring in a wastebasket while Merry danced a strange little jig around him, Aragorn crying in a corner because Arwen had told him she was already married, and Sam and Frodo had become quite fascinated with a tapestry on the wall, trying to figure out why the strange man had three legs.

Faramir had pestered Gandalf for lessons in several subjects even the wizard had no experience with and what exactly had happened to Éowyn and Éomer was anyone’s guess. They had disappeared suddenly and returned hours later, Éomer with a bloody nose and Éowyn slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain, a wooden sword in her hand.

In conclusion, Legolas deeply despised the fact that there was no way to capture the entire evening by magic to embarrass his friends with their drunken escapades.

Merry and Pippin, they celebrated together. Gandalf had taken up the task of planning for them, spending days in preparation for the greatest fireworks he ever created. Aragorn meanwhile had sent out his fastest riders to procure pipe-weed by the barrel and ale from the Green Dragon, instructed carpenters to deliver hobbit sized furniture to the castle and invited as many people as possible to attend a grand feast in the castle’s courtyard. It had been a celebration that did not end up quite as chaotic as Gimli’s but it was a pleasant evening indeed.

Merry and Pippin had entertained the crowd with songs and funny anecdotes, basking in the attention upon them, and then ripped into the presents the citizens had brought their little heroes. Though their favourite presents were, indeed, those of the Fellowship. That everyone, without fail, ended up giving them new pipes did not seem to bother them.

“One for every day of the week,” Merry had laughed, winking at the group.

“And sometimes two for the same day,” Pippin had added and stuck the fine ivory white one of elvish make and the heavy one from Rohan one into his mouth at the same time.

Gandalf had shaken his head fondly. “Hobbits.”

For Sam’s birthday, Frodo asked a favour of Lord Elrond, who agreed immediately without so much as hearing the request itself.

Sam was to celebrate his birthday in Rivendell and to be given a tour of the entire valley and its surrounding area. Glorfindel volunteered to lead the wide-eyed hobbit around into places he had never been as his friends trailed behind him, though Merry and Pippin quickly found the pantry and disappeared. 

Once Glorfindel had finished the official tour Aragorn and Legolas took their friends between them, gathered the troublemakers, and started the tour again. Only this time, they told stories of their youth under these trees.

Legolas could not remember ever seeing Sam laugh as much as he did when they recounted the time they squabbled over a wineskin and accidentally lobbed the uncorked thing at Erestor, destroying royal correspondence with Thranduil in the process. The evening concluded with a pleasant dinner under Elbereth’s stars and to the sound of Glorfindel’s fair voice telling them of the beauty of Gondolin.

What they did for Aragorn’s birthday was all Arwen’s idea. She had noticed her beloved’s growing restlessness inside the castle, stooped over paperwork and letters about subjects he could not care less about, and so she had instructed everyone in the castle to delegate everything to her for a few days. Her husband she had pushed at Legolas and Gimli, who had, in turn, pushed his Ranger garb on him and then dragged him outside where their hobbit friends and Gandalf waited astride their horses.

The following week saw them track across Middle-earth, visiting places they had seen on their quest but hadn’t been able to enjoy – a bubbling stream ending in a series of small waterfalls, a clearing filled with so many wildflowers it appeared carpeted with them, wide planes so green emeralds paled beside them – and Aragorn taught those who could not how to track the animals that crossed their paths. For Aragorn, discarding the mantle of King for a few days was the perfect gift, relaxing and exhilarating all at once.

It became a tradition in the years to come.

Frodo’s celebration was equally relaxing but much less planned. 

On the 22nd of September, every member of the Fellowship, no matter how far away they had been, arrived in dribs and drabs to gather at Bag End for a hearty dinner that emptied Frodo’s stores. 

Small gifts were given, pots of special ink or rolls of the finest parchment, small journals for his thoughts and a quill made of the feather of a great eagle the story behind which Gandalf refused to explain. At night, they sat underneath Bilbo’s great oak tree and read to each other from books found in the study ny the light of a full moon. Poetry and children’s stories, fairytales and funny short stories.

In the end, they had all ended up lying on their backs as Legolas pointed out constellations and told them the stories about each special star his mother had told him in his youth with Gandalf occasionally explaining the origins from a time before time.

Boromir…Boromir’s birthday was most akin to Frodo’s. But instead of the somewhat cramped inside of Bag End they gathered alongside Faramir in Osgiliath. In a ruin there, under the banner of Gondor that Boromir himself had raised so long ago, they built a roaring fire and passed Boromir’s favourite wine around, toasting him in quiet voices still tinged with pain at his passing.

Faramir told of his brother’s heroics against the Shadow and Merry and Pippin recounted how he had died to save them at Amon Hen, remembering his gruff kindness and easy humour. Despite Faramir’s presence neither Éowyn nor Éomer joined them, even though both Lady and newly crowned King were in Minas Tirith at the time.

As the moon reached its peak, Legolas spoke a quiet prayer for Boromir’s soul and they all tossed a sip of wine into the fire in hopes it would reach him wherever the souls of men went after death.

If anyone noticed the others cry, they did not mention it.

Birthdays were important, Legolas learned after the war.

Especially for mortals whose lives were so fleeting that every year counted.

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me on [Tumblr](http://lady--of--greenwood.tumblr.com/)


End file.
